Chapter 3
1111 Words
I was barely done packing my things and locking my suitcase when my room door slammed opened violently that I felt the walls shake
Before grasping the moment to react, I got yanked on my hair so hard I was sent stumbling backwards. The feeling of pain surged across my scalp as I gulped, instinctively reaching out to claw at the grip holding me down only to be met with a gaze that couldn't be mistaken.
Michael.
His face was twisted with rage, his breath ragged as he shoved his phone inches from my face.
"What the hell is this, Adaline?" he sparked, his fingers still tangled in my hair, pulling just enough to make my scalp burnp. Through my tears, I barely registered the image on the screen.
That picture.
The one Evelyn had sent. A manipulated lie, To the bare eyes it looked like me and the stranger from outside the bar were about to have an intimate embrace, but it was all a lie, edited an altered from the fact I was fighting to get away.
"You think you can make a fool of me?" Michael seethed, voice low and dangerous. "You think you can w***e around while pretending to be my wife?"
Rage exploded inside me.
I ripped free from his grasp, ignoring the sting in my scalp, and slapped him.
The sound cracked through the room like a gunshot.
Michael’s head snapped to the side, his jaw tightening as he inhaled sharply.
Behind him, Evelyn stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching.
Of course.
Of course, she was behind this.
Michael barely reacted. His fingers brushed his cheek before his eyes flickered to my open suitcase.
His lips curled. "Where do you think you’re going?"
My fists clenched so hard my nails dug into my palms.
"Away from you!" I spat, my voice trembling with fury. "I saw you, Michael. You and her. In that room. My best friend! Do you really think I’d stay after that?"
I expected guilt. Regret. Anything.
Instead, he chuckled.
A low, mocking laugh.
And then, as if it meant nothing at all, he turned to Evelyn.
"She’s pregnant."
Everything inside me froze.
I forgot how to breathe.
"What?" My voice came out small.
Michael stepped closer, eyes dark, empty. "Evelyn is pregnant. And you?" He scoffed. "Two years, Adaline. Two years, and you gave me nothing."
My body shook.
My world shattered.
"We’re married, Michael!" My voice cracked. "I told you to come with me to the doctor. The doctor said the problem wasn’t me! But you never listened. You never cared. You just—"
SLAP.
Pain exploded across my cheek.
The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.
I staggered, my hand flying to my burning skin. My mind reeled.
Michael’s breathing was heavy.
"She’s carrying my child," he repeated, his voice like a blade. "She’s moving in. And you? You’re not going anywhere."
Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
Then Evelyn stepped forward.
"Michael, calm down," she cooed, resting a hand on his arm before turning to me with a syrupy smile.
"If you really want to leave, I can help you," she said, voice soft, as if she actually cared. "Even I don’t want to share a house with you."
Her words dripped with venom.
She took slow, deliberate steps toward me, and I instinctively stepped back.
Then, in one swift motion, she grabbed a glass from the dresser.
And pressed it against her own stomach.
My breath caught.
No. No, no—
Before I could move, Evelyn gasped and threw herself to the floor.
Glass shattered beneath her, shards skidding across the hardwood.
Then came the scream.
A horrible, gut-wrenching scream.
Michael whipped around so fast I barely had time to react.
"Evelyn!" His voice was panic-stricken as he dropped to his knees beside her.
I stood frozen, my heart slamming against my ribs, as Evelyn curled up, her hands clutching her stomach, her face contorted in pain.
Then she lifted her teary, wide eyes to me.
And in the softest, most broken whisper, she said:
"Adaline… why would you do this?"
The room spun.
My mouth opened—no words came out.
No. No, no, no.
Michael’s head snapped up, his expression twisting into pure fury.
"If anything happens to her or my child…" he snarled, rising so fast I barely had time to react before his hand clamped around my wrist.
"You won’t get away with it."
I struggled, yanking at his grip.
"Michael, I didn't—"
He wasn’t listening.
He dragged me out of the room.
Behind him, Evelyn let out a soft whimper.
But just before the door slammed shut, I caught a glimpse of her face.
And there it was.
The smirk.
Hidden beneath her fake tears.
Then the car door slammed shut, and we sped into the night.
I had passed out through the confusion, the pain, the nightmare and when I came to, for a moment I had a sense of relief that maybe it was just a dream, but the beeping of a heart monitor was the first thing I heard that brought me back to my cruel reality.
Then came the pain.
Deep. Sharp. Unbearable.
I blinked against the hospital’s harsh lights. The room was white. Cold. Suffocating.
I tried to move—agony tore through my stomach.
The door swung open, and a nurse walked in, holding a clipboard.
"You’re awake," she said with a professional smile. "How are you feeling?"
I swallowed hard. "What… what did they do to me?"
The nurse hesitated. "You underwent emergency surgery. Evelyn suffered internal bleeding and tissue damage. Since your blood type matched, the doctor was instructed to use you as a donor for both blood transfusion and the tissue transplant she needed."
I froze.
My chest caved in.
He did this to me.
Michael did this to me.
I had protested. Fought. Begged.
But none of it mattered.
He never cared.
Tears blurred my vision as I tried to push myself up. Pain ripped through me, and I gasped.
"You shouldn’t move yet," the nurse warned. "You could reopen your wounds."
I barely heard her.
I had to get out.
Ignoring the pain, I swung my legs off the bed.
The nurse reached out. "Ma’am, you can’t—"
I staggered into the hallway.
A cab sign gleamed through the hospital doors.
Perfect.
I rushed outside, ign
oring the burning in my stomach. A driver frowned at me. "Ma’am, are you okay?"
"Just drive," I gasped.
"Where to?"
I hesitated.
Then whispered:
"Anderson Estate."
I needed to see my mother.
- Writer
